


12 Days of Ficmas 2016: Letters to Santa

by PoppyAlexander



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Discipline, Epistolary, Ficlet, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sexual Fantasy, Spanking, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 20:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13174686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoppyAlexander/pseuds/PoppyAlexander
Summary: Sherlock's letter to Santa, as found in Greg's pocket.





	12 Days of Ficmas 2016: Letters to Santa

_(a handwritten, elaborately and many-times folded note found in the pocket of Greg Lestrade’s coat, beside his packet of cigarettes, which he swears had more than three smokes in it last time he checked)_

Dear Santa,

I have it on good authority from my big, delicious daddy-bear of a boyfriend that I have been, and despite his frequent scolding (always given—I notice—with a half-smile he can’t suppress, and generally quite quickly followed by a vigourous shag) continue to be, a very naughty boy. Naturally I’d love to find my stocking filled with a variety of scented and flavoured personal lubricants to spread on my big man’s fingers, or to slick around his gorgeous prick with my own, but I am assured that I am in no position to ask for what I want and expect to get it, because I’m a brat and a handful. Other things I suppose I should not ask for, but which I desperately want, are as follows: 200 cigarettes; ten yards of wide satin ribbon; honey-flavoured lip balm; love bites from jawbone to mid-thigh; four nights in a suite at the Connaught with my man (I would pack champagne and massage oil instead of clothing).

Perhaps if I were properly disciplined between now and Christmas Eve, you might consider granting at least a few of my wishes? I assure you I can be very, very good, if only I am given adequate guidance. I feel certain my firm-handed lover could dole out punishments appropriate to the task of erasing all my bad behaviour. He could start by putting me over his knee and thoroughly warming my arse with his hand, and then the thuddy wooden paddle he favours for the way it makes me squirm and whine and beg him to stop. He could put me on my knees and make me watch him please himself—how I would ache to take him down my throat, in my hand, up my burning, welted arse—and deny me my own release. How wild I would become in my exquisite frustration! He would likely have to tie me to help me keep my hands to myself. He could pull my hair and slap my thighs and put me facedown and arse-up and I would moan please. . .please. . .please. . .

I’ve a mind to be naughty right now; damn it to hell, Santa, _mon_ _cher ami_ , but I will never get what I want, at this rate! Meantime I am waiting naked in his bed for my big man to come home and set me to rights. Is it more or less naughty that it’s half-one in the afternoon and surely whoever he makes excuses to in his office for having to leave in the middle of the day will know just by looking at him that there’s a needy, wet-mouthed boy waiting for him?

Most sincerely yours,  
SH

PS: Do you think he’d like me in stockings and heels?


End file.
